


where you were standing

by sailingthenightsea



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Cottagecore, M/M, Minecraft but real, Slice of Life, Survival, author takes liberties in regards to minecraft food recipes bc we deserve more options @ mojang, i'm posting this to help ppl cope w heatwaves, idk why but here are, in a shocking turn of events, might do a continuation of this vibe if there is interest, minecraft as a post apocalyptic world, minecraft survival au, my aesthetic is survival stories combined w lots of detail abt day to day life, pure fluff, so apparently these two idiots are my current muse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28727361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailingthenightsea/pseuds/sailingthenightsea
Summary: Dream laughs, loud and reckless, and George thinks of the worn out copy of the Iliad on their table. When Dream spins back around and says, “Stop fretting, George, we’re almost home,” George thinks of Achilles, thinks of Patroclus, thinks of golden Icarus boys and the ones they drag with them into the flames.George thinks maybe burning wouldn’t be so bad if Dream was there, grinning wild and feral, laughing like a god.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 58





	where you were standing

**Author's Note:**

> hello
> 
> this is apparently my new hyperfixation
> 
> enjoy

Before the arrow can find its target, Dream’s shield comes up in his vision, taking the hit and dropping out of the way for George to fire back. The skeleton falls and Dream tells him to _be more careful_ like one arrow would’ve done anything more than bounce off his armor.

George rolls his eyes, half fond and half annoyed.

“You’re welcome,” Dream calls over his shoulder, pointed.

He scoffs, shakes his head, and keeps his eyes on the trees, not on Dream’s ridiculous shoulders. “I can take care of myself.”

“Can you?” Dream asks, teasing. He turns, tilts his head, the smile of his mask mimicking the smile in his voice. “Are you sure I don’t need to _take care of you_ , George?”

“You’re an idiot,” George mutters, face warm.

“Mmh,” Dream hums. “Your idiot.”

George scoffs again then raises his bow to take down the creeper coming up beyond Dream. It twists something in his stomach that Dream doesn’t falter or flinch away, trusting George to handle the threat without shooting him in the face.

“If you were _my_ idiot, then maybe you would listen when I tell you to _pay attention_.”

Dream laughs, loud and reckless, and George thinks of the worn out copy of the Iliad on their table. When Dream spins back around and says, “Stop fretting, George, we’re almost home,” George thinks of Achilles, thinks of Patroclus, thinks of golden Icarus boys and the ones they drag with them into the flames.

George thinks maybe burning wouldn’t be so bad if Dream was there, grinning wild and feral, laughing like a god.

Just as the world dips into twilight, their house comes into view. They built it half into a hillside, two great oaks growing together above it, roots cradling the entrance. lanterns hanging from the tree branches cast the small clearing in a golden light, and the wildflowers sway in the gentle breeze.

Dream opens the gate with a dramatic flourish and George plays along, putting a hand to his chest and curtseying once inside, laughing to match Dream’s delight.

Both of their dogs come barrelling over, slamming into Dream and tackling him to the ground. George watches, fond, but keeps an eye on the treeline. They learned early that _home_ didn’t necessarily mean _safe_.

George pulls Dream to his feet and Dream doesn’t let go until they’re inside with the door shut behind them. They pull off their armor in comfortable silence, and George tries not to let his gaze linger on Dream’s face as he pulls his mask off. Dream snags the goggles off George’s nose like he always does when he catches George forgetting to take them off. He sets them on the shelf with such care it makes George’s heart flip and he remembers when Dream had first found the things, giggling as he slid them on George’s nose.

 _You’re an idiot_ , George had said, snorting at his reflection. Dream had draped himself over George’s shoulder to grin up at him, _Yeah, but I’m your idiot._

Dream moves deeper into the house to light the fire in the main room and unload their things, reaching to take George’s pack from his already outstretched hand as he turns the corner into the kitchen to make them both dinner.

It’s peaceful, the steadiness of chopping up carrots and potatoes and adding them to the chicken stock he made from the leftovers of last night’s meal. He pours two bowls and takes the staler loaf of bread for himself before carrying the food down the hall to find Dream sat close to the fire, wrapped in one of their old scavenged quilts.

They eat until their bowls are empty and they’re full and warm and sleepy. They bump shoulders as they get ready for bed, rinsing their mouths with water and scrubbing their teeth clean on strips of linen.

If they exchange soft _I love you_ ’s as they curl into their shared mattress, then certainly it’s only innocently meant. They sleep entangled, for warmth and closeness and safety in a world starved of it.

-

The rooster wakes George at dawn and after he untangles his limbs, he only lingers for a moment to watch Dream’s chest slowly rise and fall.

Half an hour later, Dream joins him in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around George’s middle and resting his chin on the top of his head.

“Morning breath,” George says and Dream grunts and blows a stale breath down into face. “ _Dream_ ,” he whines.

“ _George_ ,” he mimics. Then, sweetly, “Good morning, sunshine.”

He can’t help but smile and he rolls his eyes to keep from betraying the way his heartbeat picks up when Dream sways them both to music George can’t hear. “Good morning, Dream.”

-

They’re swimming across a river when a rotted hand grabs George by the ankle. He lets out a strangled yell and drops his sword before his head is pulled below the surface. The drowned’s grip is like iron and no matter how hard George kicks he can’t break it. It lunges for him and he holds it off with his right hand. He fumbles for his pick, his ax, anything, but can’t pull any of his weapons loose. His lungs burn and panic starts to crawl up his throat.

Then the drowned goes limp, diamond glinting, sharp and dangerous, through its skull. Dream swims up and wraps an arm around George to help him to the surface.

They break, gasping.

“Are you okay?!” Dream demands, chest heaving, water dripping from his hair, his lashes.

George nods, puts a hand on his shoulder to reassure him while he catches his breath, but Dream needs more. He pulls George to his chest, clinging to him as they both tread water.

“I’m alright,” he breathes, holding onto Dream just as tightly. “I’m okay, Dream. I just need to grab my sword and then let’s get out of the water, yeah?”

Dream doesn’t smile or laugh like he’s supposed to when the danger passes. He doesn’t tease George for almost getting taken out by a _drowned_ of all things. He just nods sharply and dives for the sword before resurfacing.

They swim the rest of the way in tense silence and when they get just a few steps onto the bank, Dream tells him to hold still as he checks him for injuries despite his protests.

“I told you, I’m _fine_ ,” he says as Dream makes a series of complicated expressions when he traces the bruises quickly blooming over the pale skin of George’s ankle. “Are _you_?” he asks softly.

“Yeah. Yeah, no, I’m good.” He clears his throat. “We should definitely build a bridge there.”

George snorts, but Dream doesn’t return to his good humor for hours and doesn’t move out of arm reach until they’re safe at home that night.

“You were weird today,” he murmurs in the near dark of their bedroom. He can barely make out Dream’s features in the dim glow of the fireplace. His eyes glitter as they watch him attentively.

He hums. “I watched you go under, but I was so far behind I thought I wouldn’t reach you in time.” His voice is steady until the end when it trembles just enough to betray how afraid Dream had been.

“I’m sorry,” he says because he’s not sure what else there is.

Dream scoffs. “It wasn’t like you meant for anything to happen.”

“No, but… I don’t want you to think you have to worry about me.”

“George,” Dream says softly, “I’m never gonna stop worrying about you.”

-

“Surprise,” Dream says, arms out wide and mask shoved up on top of his head. He’s grinning so wide George can’t help but feel warm despite the rain still clinging to his skin.

“You built this?” George asks breathlessly, looking around him at the lanterns and the stars and then at Dream who has sobered slightly. “What?”

He shuffles his feet and looks shy which is so uncharacteristic George reaches out to put a hand on his arm. “Do you like it?”

“Like it? Dream, you built an _observatory_ in a _tree_. I love it.” Dream smiles and it’s soft and relieved and _god_ this idiot boy. Before he can really weigh the consequences, he flings his arms around Dream’s neck and buries his face into his neck. “I love _you_ ,” he says and it all feels so delicate in this place Dream built for him with the stars shining and the rain drumming on the glass roof.

“Happy birthday,” Dream murmurs, drifting closer and George is _enchanted_. The world feels small, feels safe and warm and beautiful and just for them.

Lightning cracks open the sky and George jumps out of his skin, straight into Dream’s chest, which rumbles with laughter while thunder rolls around them.

“I love you too,” Dream says, soft and so real George looks at him with a gentle surprise. When he looks up, Dream leans down, catching his lips with his own and George matches him easily. It is, of course, inevitable.

George anchors himself by closing his fists in the back of Dream’s hoodie. Dream curls his fingers in George’s hair, tilts his head and runs his tongue over the seam of George’s mouth. He opens his lips and Dream moans. George walks them both backwards to the bed and Dream's knees hit the edge and the fall takes them both down. George lands giggling and Dream wheezes.

“You’re beautiful,” George says, awe filled and almost whispered. “Golden. You could fly us both into the sun and I’d let you.”

Dream looks up at him like he’s searching before shaking his head and kissing him softly. “Why would I want the sun, when you’re right here?”

Later they will look up at the stars and Dream will trace their own story there, vowing to write it all down so they live forever.

**Author's Note:**

> comments & kudos are greatly appreciated <3
> 
> hmu on twitter (@sailthenightsea) or tumblr (@sailingthenightsea)
> 
> also lmk if this is smth y'all would be interested in seeing more of!!


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